


Overwatch Tidbits

by orphan_account



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Gen, One Shot Collection, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slice of Life, Technobabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-07-24 19:42:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7520671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short works in the Overwatch-universe, one-shots and the like.<br/>(Latest & last) WidowTracer as baby-sitters</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wednesday sitrep - Mercy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Head-canons galore, how would a somewhat atypical meeting sound like at Overwatch HQ? Angela "Mercy" Ziegler has to deal with a room of warmongers on her own.

**Early June, 2064 - Seven years until Petras Act got implemented.**

Everyone gathered around the oblong table in the conference room frowned in deep thought as the clear target of the majority's interest flicked her hand to advance the holographic slide-show behind her. The oversized imagery with arrows and explanations that swam in the air did little to ease the troublesome terms and concepts the presenter worked with.  
  
"Each individual bot, as I mentioned earlier, retains code not only to construct and repair itself - but also that of its logical neighbours." Linking her hands to better portray the metaphor, she continued. "Like a chain, with each link capable of repairing those connected."  
  
For the less technically inclined individuals attending this briefing, this was the first part of the 15-minute long presentation they truly got their heads around.  
  
"That, I think I've heard of before." A gruff voice cut off the presenter at the head of the table. The voice, belonging to the short and burly man with flaring golden moustache took the silence as queue to move on. "And it worked just as well as you would think, so well it got all of us to be here."  
  
Some had their frowns grow even deeper, and turned towards the young girl at the front again for a retort.  
  
"I, yes, that is true - there are some patents that are similar to Omnica's but they are far from identical." Before the man in the back got the chance to interrupt again, she continued. "Their goal, however, was on a different scale. It was to not only rebuild and enhance itself, but also to produce new content." With a finger lift, she presented her last point of defence; "this here is not intelligent enough to do that, simply."  
  
An indignant huff that contrasted sharp with his pleased smirk, the man leaned back in his chair as if content.  
  
"However, this all is so far mostly theory, and I can't maintain a stable enough production of bots to build a 'chain' long enough to sustain itself." She used her fingers to symbolise the metaphor. "They simply draw too much energy in their current state, and unless it's connected to an almost permanent power source, this is as far as it'll get."  
  
A new voice took the attention from the presenter, this time a dark man with his face leaning against his hand as he rested the elbow against the table. The Blackwatch's head of Operation, the sole member of that department that actually seemed to leave their isolated compound.

"What would be a sufficient source? The omniums need a whole fusion core, and there's few of them already." Shaking her head, the girl took a moment to respond.  
  
"I know it's a horrible answer, but it really depends. To replace a lost arm; probably enough current that's active in the rest of the body and replacing more parts than that would be detrimental." Shrugging apologetically she waits for further questions that didn't come.  
  
"To conclude this part, these bots would function like stem cells, albeit mechanical and easier to program. En masse, they could replace lost limbs better than any mechanical counterpart." That seemed to lure a few into thinking this over, as a sigh and rustles of several sets of clothes was heard before she spoke again.  
  
"However, for the next sets of bots, the news are less theoretical - even in action." The presenter pretended not to hear the drawn out sighs as some attendees reluctantly accepted the need to listen on.  
  
Another flick, another floating image behind her.  
  
"I, along with Torbjörn, have managed to increase the power efficiency of the aptly named 'heal-bots'. It's now likely that we can compress a dose into a canister the size of your thumb, with the ability to mend most organic wounds. Again, bones are still too hard and require old fashioned methods. Yes, I'm looking at you Herr Reinhardt." A few snickers arose, but hardest laughed the target of the joke.  
  
"Wouldn't swap my visits for anything, my dear." He almost bellowed despite the relative short distance over the table. She took a moment to smile in return.  
  
"A target both of us are working towards, is the increased functionality of my staff, maybe even to a degree of transporting and activating the bots over a distance." The frowns from earlier were quickly replaced with appreciating looks and nods.  
  
"It would be a strategic improvement to have aid over distance, compared to my direct means of today." She glanced to the other end of the table, to the man that throughout the whole presentation hadn't reacted at all. Even now, his only reaction was to nod a few times.  
  
"So, if anyone is up for some practical experiments - you know where to find me." Finishing her slide-show with a clap, the hologram behind her died down and the roof-light slowly adapted to normal opacity to let in more light.  
  
As if on cue, the large monkey who had dutifully kept notes throughout the presentation, fixed his glasses and took a breath to speak as the girl took a seat.  
  
"The issue from last week's update to Athena remains, luckily we have narrowed down the loop and will fix it with next reboot. That's planned for the day after tomorrow..."

 

  
Half an hour later and the mid-week sitrep concluded. With this, the different department heads had been brought up to date with the others, and the Friday's sitrep would most likely end several issues brought up today.  
  
Last to leave the room, mostly by design as she took overly long time to collect the few things by her seat, was Angela Ziegler. Commonly known, that is to say what it said on brochures and the public referred to her as, Mercy fiddled with the holo pad she used to take notes on. A sleek thing, nothing more than a silver tube when turned off, she checked a few e-mails that she had already read to avoid getting up and leave.  
  
She had been part of Overwatch for less than a year, the  de facto department head of its medical department for just a little shorter than that and the representative for the tech-department along with Torbjörn for the last few months. It had been a reluctant choice between lesser evils that had her end up here. Beside the PR representative and head auditor, all the others in that room had warfare mainly on their minds. They thought in terms of skirmishes, advancements of men instead of research and never retreat. The fact her own department represented less than a quarter of the organisation's spending meant little when faced with the fact that left positively tens of billions on production and deployment of arms.  
  
"You know, I didn't mean anything bad earlier, just had to ask so the others got it." The stout shape of Torbjörn, both her best friend and worst enemy in these matters, barely reached her elbow as he walked up to her.  
  
"They, uh, are not as smart as you and jag...-me." His slip-ups surprised no one by now, yet the embarrassment had his ears and spots of his cheek still visible through all that hair, shine deep-red.  
  
"That's not what worries me, it's what they'll do with it when I'm done." She heard the audible breath Torbjörn took as he prepared to have _that_ talk again.  
  
"They won't do anything you don't like, okay? They'll consider it, we two say no, and then they won't." To him, it was easy. They were the good guys, they would do no evil. They sure saw, heard and acted against bad, but didn't do it. Had she been up for it, she would ask him what she usually did; how can you be sure. Instead, she simply sighed and nodded in defeat.  
  
"Anyhow," a comparatively massive calloused hand landed on her shoulder, "it's lunch. And a little food will do you good." Leaning in conspiratorially, he said, "heard it's mash and meatballs today, but it's nothing like the real thing. Maybe we should bring that up on Friday, eh?" He chuckled as he left, knowing his poor joke deserved no reply.

Finally returning her holo pad to one of her many pockets, Angela rose to follow the Swede out. Thoughts of lunch was far from her mind as she again pondered what her research would be used for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I (unsurprisingly) ended up in Overwatch hell. What took me so long to write was mainly the garbled mess that is the time-line. As I just couldn't get started on something longer, I started out with one-shots (who knows, might take one further?).  
> Hope they're enjoyable to read, and please feel free to correct my language or offer critique.  
> Timeline referenced: http://i.imgur.com/WGlHtyP.jpg


	2. Pharmercy Lunch-Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing more to it than what the title says, really.

Hovering her hand over the button titled "Push" Fareeha wonder what use it held as the door reacted to her hand well before even touching it and opened up without a sound. She nodded as she had come to understood was common practice at the invitation shouted by someone inside, and remained bent to avoid the holograms hovering just behind the door.

A team, luckily including one of the Shimada brothers, had been dispatched to Japan to at first confirm the intel about a Talon cell soon to activate there. A confrontation she wished rather hadn't occurred had proven the intel right. Adding to that, it had been atop the roofs of innermost Tokyo. Jack Morrison, or as he had returned as; Soldier 76, had then decided that the group should stay and 'salt the ground' as the saying goes. With Lena and Genji engaged with sorting through the gutter of Tokyo's underground, Fareeha had taken the rare opportunity to bring Angela Ziegler out for lunch.

Dressed in loose blouse and wide dress pants to help circulation of air, Fareeha had quickly come to terms with the summer heat, despite it being a lot more humid than she was used to. That was however not the case for Angela, who had arrived straight from a quick skirmish in Russia for this. So, except the inevitable jet-lag, she also dealt with her body very slowly adapting to the sweltering heat. It had been commonplace to send someone out for chill-packs available at most of the myriad of corner-stores, and several a suit had seen showers of sanitation and de-fragrance. Only Genji, to no one's surprised, seemed unhindered by the heat.

So, like the couple of uneducated tourists they were, they chose to try the local cuisine at a restaurant not far from the metropolis' largest train station.

Genji had gotten the group as a whole a few travel cards that allowed them to move with ease and without their own get-ups through the extensive subway-network. A station of which, the pair had just exited a few minutes ago and then began aimlessly walk.

Angela sighing in pleasure behind Fareeha had her move to the side to let her in further, to bask in the wonders of artificially cooled air to rain down upon her. Soft mutterings in German, accompanied her shuffling around in her handbag to deposit of her just recently bought hand fan. Angela was dressed in an intelligent and fashionably excellent one-piece that carried enough power-banks (very well hidden) to generate some level of cool closest to her skin. 

The two had barely time to take in the small restaurant, before a young man rushed up, waving and pointing inwards.

Fareeha felt like a good leap or two would have her cross the room's length, and that would be in her heavy suit. Possibly it was due to main 'kitchen' placed in the middle that took up the whole length of the shop and the small space between the chairs and the wall that gave her that idea. With seats faced towards the reversed kitchen isle, it looked like no restaurant she had ever visited. At the height of the customer's heads, a slow moving train of miniature plates circled the whole isle. Thinking harder on it, she remembered vaguely hearing about this a few years ago, but seeing it in person still struck her as picturesque.

Inhabiting the kitchen isle, all waving arms and wet slaps were what she assumed the chefs. A pair, man and woman, with greying hair and natural sway speaking volumes of their experience filled dishes to keep the moving train complete. While taking a seat, following Angela who had been quicker than her to do so, Fareeha inspected the other patrons.

By her own estimations, it was far too early for the worst mid-day rush, so it being just a handful except the two of them didn't surprise. A couple of teenagers at the short end, furthest from the door, had their hands busy with their mobile devices while eating and chattering between themselves. Then there was one old gentleman clearly enjoying each plate slowly while glancing at a small book. Lastly were a group of younger adults, working through an early lunch while in deep discussions - business suits and earpieces giving them away.

Angela tapping her arm, pointing to a small holo describing in stark colours the procedure to dine. Firstly, there were illustrations of different sets of plates, going by the colours of edges and patterns. Then there were listings in bold letters for "Top 5", probably their best-sellers. Trying to work her mind around the, to her, bizarre language and sudden bits of English she flinched when the arm of the young man having invited them in reached to flick something on the screen.

"Onomimono ha ikaga deshouka?" He said with an embarrassed smile, before with a flickering glance between them tried in his best English; "What to drink?" He then pointed to the screen, and the labels for several drinks and even more Fareeha could not guess what they were floated instead of the prices for each plate from before.

Angela was quick on the up-take, asking for a coke with one of her patented smiles.

"Coke, me too." Fareeha had thought of water, but didn't want to test the waiter any harder, and the ease that crossed the man's face was palpable. He acknowledged their orders, while hitting a few buttons on his wrist-mounted tool. "Hai, koora wo futatsu." He then focused away from the readings of his tool, probably their bill, and had the holo return to its previous screen again. Wondering for just a short moment, he hit another button and through a menu managed to translate the menu to English. Pleased with himself, he pointed to the small valves mounted around the outside of the isle and then the gathering of cups sorted sporadically close-by.

"Ocha...tea? Free." Then pointing to a plate that passed them by, a typical example of the sushi-dish nowadays seen all around the world, he continued; "You like, you ask." He ended by pointing over the isle to the chefs inside. Again, Angela was quicker and thanked the man in her best rendition of the local language up to this point (not that Fareeha made an effort to listen and remember, it was just a habit from training).

The jingle of electronic bells had him leave the two, and with another loud invitation welcoming the new patrons just entering. Fareeha noticed that the chefs, both of them, echoed the invitation along with a voice coming from some room just outside her view.

"At first I thought we would have no chance without Genji, but this looks manageable." Angela says, as she squints at the small holo menu.

"Don't be too sure, we never know what will come." Fareeha jokes and looks away from the entrance, joining Angela in perusing the selection.

"Haha, well, I can't say I'm too excited for warm tea." She replies, nodding to the cups to her right while using her finger to scroll through the menu. "I really have no idea what they all mean, even if I can read it, so I'll just grab one." Leaving Fareeha to peruse on her own, Angela grabs a dish at random from the floating train in front of them.

With the plate acquired, Angela stops, suddenly realising she can't eat it with her fingers. Or?

"Want chopsticks?" Fareeha, again probably out of habit, had noticed the small details of the isle - among them the small recesses that had napkins, even smaller plates and finally chopsticks. Taking a pair herself, she handed two to Angela.

Maybe she shouldn't have said anything? Watching Angela eat with her fingers had been a treat once before, not only it being Fareeha's cooking they'd enjoyed, but visually as well. However, she wasn't too keen on garnering more attention in this establisment than they already did.

It went without saying that Angela attracted looks of all kinds wherever she went, a fair few appreciative ones from Fareeha as well - but among the almost categorically dark-haired natives of Tokyo she stood out like a lighthouse. In contrast, it was mostly Fareeha's tattoo and stature that had people give her a second glance and then ample room as she walked the streets. She had heard from Hana and Mei (and even Aleksandra, out of all people) that there were districts of Tokyo where hair colours like Angela's wouldn't stand out as much or were even drab in comparison.

Catching herself having never moved her eyes from Angela after offering chopsticks, Fareeha quickly glances at the belt and like Angela, grabs a random plate.

Fareeha's seems to have some garnish, some roots of some kind and strings of...mayonnaise? Except a quick lunch almost a decade ago, she haven't had sushi before - so this dish in front of her was a curious creation. The soft tink of ice against glass alerted her of the arrival their drinks. This time it was not the young waiter from before, but a somewhat older woman clad in a rustic apron that quickly returned to where she came from before Fareeha got a chance to thank her.

"Ah, verdammt, heisse!" Angela quickly took a deep swallow from the glass. "Wasabi, lots of it." She told Fareeha after swallowing yet another sip. With great concern Fareeha compared her plate to Angela's - luckily it shared nothing but its size.

"Well, I'll try mine then." It was tricky business keeping the chopsticks from wandering off with her food as she tried and get it to her mouth - something she hadn't seen Angela struggle with.

The bit of fish fit well, even snugly, but the sticks just wouldn't do what Fareeha tried to have them do. However, some eager practice as Angela scoured the menu for any warnings for wasabi to save herself a repeat, Fareeha got enough control over the darned sticks to at least have them move the fish from the plate to her mouth. A small victory, to be sure, yet she enjoyed it to its fullest.

The rest of the meal was a bit lacklustre, after the initial bumps and when Angela declared herself the winner with 13 plates, Fareeha felt it was a lunch well spent. It also being the start of the lunch rush did help her decision to leave as the small place begun quickly filling up.

Fareeha, giving the green tea another go, but like last few times deciding it really wasn't for her, was the first to leave her seat. Like a spring, the young water appeared again, and with his wrist pad scanned the side of the plates. It was a quick procedure, and he was done before Angela had finished taking a photo of their success. With a line forming just by the entrance, Fareeha understood the waiter's urgency as he ushered them to the wall-mounted register where the total sum came to an initially startling sum.

A quick calculation later, however, and Fareeha relaxed and tapped her credit card to the pay-station.

"Thank you, and please be back!" The waiter urged them as two new customers entered to take the free seats. Angela gave a polite nod and smile, while Fareeha simply nodded and dodged the irritating holos by the door.

Outside, the heat struck like a thrown wet blanket and Angela quickly grabbed her hand fan from her handbag.

"Well, with our bellies full and time to spare, how about we return to the station? I think I saw something about a mall..." Angela linked her arms with Fareeha, who involuntarily went ramrod straight.

"Y-yes, we can do that." Any and all thoughts that could compete with Angela's suggestion went out the window so she simply agreed by reflex.

It was more than the summer heat that had Fareeha uncomfortably warm rest of that day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Being a complete and utter sucker for Pharmercy, I had to write something at least.  
> Hope it was enjoyable to read, and please feel free to correct my language or offer critique.  
> Based this restaurant of the one I visited less than a block from Shinjuku Station's east exit.


	3. Mercy and check-ups.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being Mercy means repairing more than bones and mending ills.

**April 2068. 3 years until Petras Act.**

Angela wiped her sweaty brow with a rag that she would come to regret using later. For the moment though, the scattered pieces of her Valkyrie Suit in front of her on the table was more of a concern.

It was after a skirmish in the city closest to their Gibraltar outpost, and the suit had simply lost power on their way back to base. Evidently a bullet she thought had just nicked her cut off enough important functions to the power unit to have it collapse on her. Reaching in underneath the padded layer of the back, she fiddled with the connector that should plug into the diminutive generator she had just installed. The suit itself did not use lot of power to maintain its functions, as it compensated with the generator.

Swearing under her breath, she heard the automatic doors leading into the repair shop hiss - alerting her of a visitor.

"Oh my, are you doing all right? It seems very tricky." The raspy voice of Overwatch second in command had Angela turn her head with a frustrated smile. Ana Amari, world-famous sniper who become Jack Morrison's adjutant when Overwatch shaped into a global armed force, walked with a small lean favouring her armoured leg. Dressed in the blue slacks with the beret and chest insignia detailing her as an officer, she was as relaxed as Angela ever saw her.

"It has got worse with every upgrade, but I can manage." Angela replies as Ana leans against the table to inspect the suit herself. Shrugging, she then walks over to a chair; "That's why I keep it simple. An eye that does its own thing and this" she hit the armoured leg with a clank "just got bearings and plates."

Angela kept her comments about the eye to herself, and instead grabbed a screwdriver to help guide the small connector firmly into its socket. Knowing the commander, although always pleasant and nice was never one for random visits, Angela kept her curses at bay as she finally got the connector where it belongs with a delicate 'click'.

"Connecting to suit, expect a few minutes for diagnostic tests." Athena, ever present in the room's speakers reported. Forcing the cables to fit snugly behind the cover, Angela closed up the maintenance plate. With most of the physical work done with the suit, she sighed and wiped the suit clean of her finger prints.

"Ah, good timing." Ana spoke, reaching to toy with Angela's head-mounted halo. "I was hoping to pry you away from the suit..." She looks at the halo with a curious smile, before returning it to the table and giving Angela her full attention.

"I, err, well - my leg's acting up again. Thought you could help me with that." Angela cleaned her hands and nodded to confirm, keeping her suspicion hidden. The two had a check-up scheduled for Sunday, two days from now and her leg being a returning issue would be something Angela would have brought up regardless - so why this now?

"Sure, we got to go to the med-bay though," She waved her hands at the multitude of tools around her, "can't do much here, sadly." A final brush of the rag at her bangs, feeling it smudge more than dry her up, and she followed Ana out.

* * *

 

Slowly easing the needle through her commander's dark skin, Angela navigated by experience to the depth needed for the injection to be of use.

Years of over-taxing her body, and continuous strain with growing age, had most of Ana's joints either hurting or like her left knee - giving up completely. The exoskeleton right leg helped, and was also the sole compromise Ana had accepted to prevent further injuries. Angela, along with the several doctors treating Ana, were expecting her back to go next and had each tried to ease Ana into the idea of expanding the exoskeleton there, to no avail.

"Ah, thanks." Ana tried to relax against the seat but the unnerving sensation of Angela's needle had her tense up. Angela just smiled in return, and injected the small dose of long-time heal-bots specifically designed to repair the knee.

"My pleasure, but," Angela took a deep breath, preparing for a cavalcade of military-speech, "We would have done this on Sunday, regardless - why now?" Extracting the needle slowly, she brought up her holo pad to take a reading from the bots.

"... I'm gone on Sunday." Angela stopped, then entered the needed commands to initiate the bots first set of commands. "Relocating tonight, just got word from HQ." Setting her pad to simply monitor the patient and bots, Angela stretched her back and looked at Ana's face. Both being in high positions, there were few orders the other wouldn't have heard of, she waited for Ana to continue.

"Okay, I requested it. I'm heading to Giza." That was somewhat closer to the truth, even if a request from Ana wouldn't be denied, she chose to put it like that anyway.

"We got the equipment there too..." Angela started, but cut off at Ana's look. Pushing away from Ana, towards her desk, she leaned back against it to wait for Ana to continue.

"I know, of course, but..." Ana looked around the office, not for escape but probably the words she clearly had trouble with. "I'm meeting up with Fareeha, called in some favours." _Ah, Das also war des Pudels Kern,_ Angela quoted to herself. She had heard, from the required post-trauma psych reports, that the two Amari women did not see eye to eye. It was however news that the younger Amari was enlisted somehow, she thought it hardly surprising.

"We, well, you probably know, haven't talked that much." Ana scratched her knee idly. "Not for two years actually." That had Angela lift her eyebrows in surprise. She knew Ana was almost borderline criminally stubborn, and it seems the cute little girl she met all those years ago had taken after her in more ways than one. Still letting Ana do the talking, Angela remained quiet, taking in the waves of feelings that crossed the commander's face. Clearly, she looked forwards to seeing her daughter, but it seemed to also have her worried. And then there were the underlying frustration, mostly at herself if Angela knew Ana as well as she thought.

"She...she is doing well, so don't worry." Ana made a poor attempt at easing the situation, and Angela smiled back good-heartedly. In comparison, it seemed almost easy to resurrect and heal people than to have a child, she thought.

"Anyway, sorry for taking your time - time for me to go, the shuttle waits for no one." Again back to her granite façade, Ana eased out of the chair with a polite smile.

"I'll just do this last little thing...there we go." Angela hit the button on her pad to cancel the monitoring service (finding no issues) and launched the final repair protocol. "It's always a pleasure to have you, Ana, you know that. Say hi to Fareeha for me." Ana was well on her way out the door when she stopped at that, glanced back, and gave a wry smile.

"I'll do that." And she left.

Angela gave herself a moment to log the impromptu visit before asking out in to the open, "how's the diagnostics going, Athena?"

"They're complete, I understood this meeting was more...important, so I remained silent." Chuckling at the AI's ever-growing character, Angela leaned back.

"Thanks for that, please transfer the results to my monitors and launch a virtual program for bug checking." With one of her holo-monitors flickering to life, Angela prepared herself for a night of testing to bring her suit back to action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope they're enjoyable to read, and please feel free to correct my language or offer critique.  
> Timeline referenced: http://i.imgur.com/WGlHtyP.jpg


	4. WidowTracer and child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post second omnic crisis, reformed Widowmaker along with Lena is tasked with watching co-workers' child.

She pressed a finger against the child’s fat cheeks, amazed how such a small thing can actually survive. Closing her eyes and shaking her head to disperse the thought, she corrected herself.  
They were meant to survive, people would protect it if harm ever came its way.  
  
Not far away, Tracer looked on as her former nemesis turned protégée in the world after the second omnic crisis carefully prodded and poked the pairs’ responsibility for the evening.  
The Omnic crisis might be over, but the world would never not need heroes, so his two mothers had been hurriedly sent off to a neighbouring city for a medical crisis turned ugly.  
Tracer herself had some experience with kids, mostly from Overwatch press events where parents would hand their small children to her for a photo or short video. This, however, keeping an eye on an infant yet able to walk on his own was new ground. She did take it a lot better than the woman in front of her, though.  
  
The child opened its eyes, and Amélie stopped her fingers. Blaming herself for wakening it.  
Unhindered images and thoughts from her previous lives came crashing on her – Amélie Lacroix and Gerard Lacroix, her husband, had discussed having children. _Some day_ , he’d say. _When it’s safe_ , he said another day. All that had completely fled her mind when _they_ had taken her and erased that notion and many others completely from her mind. When they had her, she was taught children were low-value targets - collateral damage if nothing else. Deep inside, she hoped she had never been forced to pull a trigger aiming at a child, but as she was now - she could not know.

Without noticing it, her hand had returned to its dark locks, idly wrapping it around her finger. Amused, the child giggled and did its best to grab the long digit – to what end, she had no idea.

* * *

Rain poured down Tracer's back, and all she could think was that she was glad it was no longer bullets or hot plasma that accompanied it. After almost a decade of struggles as distrusted vigilantes, Tracer along with her allies had reached their pinnacle in the struggle against Talon.

Ironically, it had brought them to the outskirts of a small town in north America, one they hardly could have considered to be their final stronghold. It took days of unrelenting skirmishes for them to at last breach the massive underground compound. It sporting not only logos and memoribilia from Overwatch's golden years, but also that of Blackwatch gave this victory a growing sour taste.

The holes in the reinforced roof seemed old, and mostly forgotten like the base itself. Had it not been for the startling amount of high-level Talon operatives they had to fight through to get here, Tracer would never have considered it a Talon base.

"Athena says it's clear, signal's weak but she's not getting any movement." The rasp of Winston's voice, gave Lena the courage she needed to jump over this haphazard barricade and blink forwards to the last area they hadn't secured. Jack claimed to have no recollection of this base, at all, so he was no use to Tracer as she checked the desolate rooms on both sides of this seemingly never-ending corridor. Each room did appear a copy of the one before it, and Lena scoffed at the realisation that it was prison cells. The corridor, and the rooms, were in even worse condition than the rest of the base and Tracer did not spot a single whole door until the last two cells. One of them was open, another empty cell beyond and the other was closed and with all the wires and devices connected or passing through, inhabiting something of worth.

"Winston! Got a locked cell here, breaching it!" Lena shouted down the corridor, towards the bulky shape of Winston following her steps with less vigour.

"What, no-" Lena acted before Winston finished his warning, her pair of blasters quickly making a smouldering mess of the technology in front of her and then with a swift quick forced the door inwards. It creaked, and protested loudly, but seemed to not even have been locked.

The cell looked like the others, but was instead filled with wires and larger consoles all connected to the vertically placed table at the cell's end. A stream of cables of varying thickness covered every spot of skin of the table's inhabitant. A quick look around, and Lena concluded that along with the door, all of it was without power.

Or, she quickly realised, shut-off intentionally. Returning her blasters to their sockets along her arms, she walked up to the clearly feminine body under all the wires. She however stopped, when she noticed movement, more specifically, from what she thought to be a corpse.

"Winston," turning to again shout for her friend, who just turned to enter the door, "We got a live one!"

They had never found out why Talon had resorted to putting Widowmaker in that cell, nor for how long she had been there. All Widowmaker herself knew, when she was well enough to respond to their questions, was her own name; Amélie. To Angela Ziegler, the one who did the tests on her, it was clear she suffered extensive memory loss. What from, she could not make out. The damages to her brain, it now decades older than it ought to have been, proved only she had been in intensive torture. If it however was the reason for her being in the room, or older than that, she could not make out.

So, they had decided to avoid treating her memory loss with more than slow care. If she even had any memories left, only time would tell.

* * *

"Can I lift it-...him? You think they'd be okay with that?" Her mouth, just like her hand before, moved on its own.  
“Of course, how else can he burp?” Tracer, having remained silent and still since she first laid eyes on the child, moved up to help her.  
“Here, keep your arm to your chest. There you go, now keep him against your shoulder, one hand by his head.” Delicate, unsure whether the boy could handle her touch, she moved stiltedly to position him as Tracer guided her.  
  
Of all things Lena had seen both the old Amélie and Widowmaker handle, this had to be the first time she appeared unsure – even scared out of her mind. At the same time, Lena thanked Angela who fed the boy before handing him over. Lena wouldn’t have trusted herself with that task.  
  
“A-and then? You said he might burp?” Tracer looked back to her two charges, one happily reaching for the other’s long hair.  
  
“Yeah, they got a tendency to do that after eating, and this lad here did it not that long ago.” Tracer softly turned Amélie towards the couch that took up most of this room.  
“We can do this and sit at the same time, come on.” It took a soft push to get her to move, and it was clearly reluctantly that she sat down, making sure none of her movements harmed the child.

Amélie looked straight ahead, arms locked like in a vice and barely breathing. What's she supposed to do now? Just wait? It's not like the child can ask for her assistance in burping, or?

"Amélie, you can pat his back, heard it's good for digestion or something." _Hardly_ , Amélie thought to herself, yet she chose to do so regardless. Or wait, how could she be so sure of that? Yet, she softly patted the boy's back, barely hard enough to activate the holo keyboard for her computer as a comparison but she didn't dare to do it harder.

"What's his name?" She asked, instincts and possibly genuine curiosity behind it.

"Husni, Fareeha got to name him." Both names felt foreign to Amélie. _Oh, Fareeha - the one in blue_ , she finally remembered the stout soldier.

"You mean Pharah, no?" _Where did that come from?_ Lena - Tracer, next to her seemed surprised, no, shocked. Amélie stopped patting the child, frowning at herself.

"Uh, yes, that's her." Lena finally said, slowly leaning back with a forced smile. _How come I knew that?_ Amélie tried to relax as well, but the rush of questions, both new and others she had fought over the last two months returned. _Where am I, why Amélie? What's Tracer doing here, unarmed? Are we compromised? Who are **we**?_

Hiccups, and soon a wet burp cut her crazed thoughts short - the little boy did burp...and more.

"Ah, I can take him, sorry." Lena rose quickly, to grab the child, but Amélie kept him still against her shoulder.

"No, I can do it - go grab tissues though." A short moment of concern from Lena before she rushed off to the kitchen. Amélie patted and rocked the boy slowly, shifting him to her other shoulder when he seemed done.

It helped. The soft mess of noises the boy helped Amélie to manage her memories. She knew she had done awful things, there were sensations left that would keep her awake at nights. Flickering thoughts, cold and sharp that left her jolting at every noise she heard. But then, there were images, more subtle and harder to bring back. The view from a spot underneath a tree overlooking a small village she couldn't name, the longing heat of touches remembered and bothersome when she couldn't recall whose.

Firmly, she knew though, in all this she could see Lena Oxton when she laid to rest. The only constant in the wild sea of scrambled memories she had.

Luckily, Lena also had an easier time to remember where the tissues were. And as she leaned to allow Lena to scrape off the boy's gifts, she dearly hoped Lena would stay as her buoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First WidowTracer fic I've done, after suggestions from /u/.  
> Hope they're enjoyable to read, and please feel free to correct my language or offer critique.  
> Timeline referenced: http://i.imgur.com/WGlHtyP.jpg


End file.
